


Wanna Be Your Soldier

by Anonymous



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angry Sex, Biting, Bondage, Dirty Talk, Gags, Knifeplay, M/M, Masturbation, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-29
Updated: 2013-01-29
Packaged: 2017-11-27 11:22:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/661408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean doesn't know what he wants and Castiel is sick of being called down to Earth in the middle of a war in Heaven.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wanna Be Your Soldier

**Author's Note:**

  * For [musicdefinesusall](https://archiveofourown.org/users/musicdefinesusall/gifts).



It starts when they’re on the hunt for a witch. Cas is in town for this one, says Heaven’s keeping an eye on it in case something special goes down and ruins the whole war for them, but Dean doesn’t care. He’s just trying to focus on the fact that Cas is here and they’re hunting as if everything is normal, as if it isn’t falling apart all around them again.

Then the witch summons a fucking demon, and while Dean turns around for seriously _two seconds_ to gank the motherfucker with Ruby’s knife, Sam gets kidnapped.

Dean is on a warpath to get him back. He swears at Cas more than is really polite, calls him a useless fucking cocksucker and a goddamn worthless dickhead for letting Sam get taken, and Castiel’s face goes completely still as Dean goes off at him. Dean should shut up; he should apologize, but his mouth is still running. He’s fucking terrified, for Sam, of Cas, of everything, and he can’t shut his—

“Shut up,” Castiel says, low and deadly, and that’s his fucking sword pressed up against Dean’s throat, sharper than anything Dean ever touched in Hell.

“Yeah,” Dean says. Yeah.

They go find Sam and they pull him out of the witch’s clutches, but the entire time, Dean’s heart is hammering away in his chest and it’s—not from adrenaline. Or if that is adrenaline, it has nothing to do with going hand to hand with a witch hellbent on using Sam for some freaky ritual and everything to do with the way Cas comes up behind her for the killing shot, eyes flashing as he stabs his sword straight through her throat.

He doesn’t realize until Cas leaves that he’s completely hard in his jeans.

Immediately after that, Dean goes into repression and he forgets that any of that ever happened. Sam, the soulless bitch, doesn’t give half a shit about the fact that a witch just tried to bleed him out on her altar, and Dean is ignoring the part of that that’s disturbingly kinky because it’s gross.

Dean is fucking _great_ at denial, thanks.

He spends the intermediate time between hunts researching ways to get Sam’s soul back into him, consulting Bobby at every turn and reading more books in a day than he usually reads for three hunts combined. There’s nothing in any of them, though, nothing that’s actually helpful, but Dean does learn an awful lot of theories about what happens to souls after death that are completely wrong. Then again, he’s actually seen the afterlife, unlike most people.

Cas shows up again on another hunt, appearing out of nowhere in the backseat of the Impala. Blood is splashed across his face, even though he reassures Sam and Dean that he’s fine. It’s not even his blood.

Dean’s hands shake anyway, even after Cas blinks and the blood is gone. He catches him later in the motel room they’re staying in, standing by himself in the bathroom with his sword and a towel. Dean watches him clean it, his hands gentle and sure on the hilt, the blade, and when the blood is wiped clean from it, Castiel looks up at the mirror and meets Dean’s eyes in it.

“His name was Micah,” Cas says blandly. “He chose the wrong side.”

“Yeah,” Dean says, nodding jerkily. His mouth is dry and his head is spinning, and Dean doesn’t know what’s wrong with himself.

Sighing, Castiel spins his knife in his hand and tucks it up into his sleeve. “I should go.”

“Why’d you have to come down here anyway?” Dean asks when he gets his tongue to work again.

“Our swords do not clean themselves,” Castiel says, finally turning and meeting Dean’s gaze without a mirror in the way. “They are...not meant to be covered in human blood.”

Dean nods, and Castiel disappears.

He lays in bed that night with Sam gone off to a bar to pick up a chick. It feels weird, knowing that would usually be Dean’s thing, but it hasn’t felt right in a while. God, he hates to say it, but Dean wants something more out of sex—something he started to experience with Lisa, toward the end of it, where he knew it _meant_ something.

God, he’s pathetic.

But he’s still horny, so he thinks about soft breasts and toned stomachs, running a hand down his chest to palm at his cock through his boxers. He doesn’t think of anyone or anything in particular, just the sensation of sliding into wet heat and feeling it clench tightly around him, of breathy gasps in his ear and nails digging into his back. It’s hot as hell because Dean has lived this enough times that his memory can provide him with almost the exact sensations, muted as they are.

He slides his underwear off, teasing a hand up the underside of his cock when he comes back to it. Strong girls; women with enough power in them to push Dean over and down and ride him hard and fast. Dean likes the more dominant women, _really_ likes the women who cuff him to the bed and have their wicked ways with him, and his hand speeds up on his dick, rubbing precome around to ease the slide.

Which reminds him of that one women, god, fuck, her name was Kristen, and she had legs like a goddess and more kinks than Dean had ever seen before. She’d whipped out the ropes before Dean had even started to take his clothes off, tying him to the headboard with such practiced ease that Dean felt a little scared of her.

But the good part—the part Dean pretends he doesn’t think about ever—was when she was blowing him, lips stretching wide over his cock as her hand moved to make up for wherever her mouth wasn’t. She pulled off right as Dean started to feel his toes curling and his balls tightening, ready to come, and then she whipped lube out of some unknown place on her person and stuck a finger up Dean’s ass.

It was weird. It hadn’t hurt, but it hadn’t felt good either, not until she got another one in there and touched this _spot_ inside him, mouth back on his dick, and Dean came harder than he ever had in his life.

Even now, he can remember that, running the tips of his fingers over his hole and wishing he had lube.

He improvises, sliding his finger into his mouth and slopping spit all over it, pulling his knee up to his chest to help with the angle. It doesn’t feel like the same kind of good, and Dean sighs, head lolling to the side to mash half of his face into his pillow. He searches for that spot inside him, but mostly he just relishes the feeling of wanting more, wanting something else that Dean’s never let himself have as he pulls his finger out and thrusts it back in, easier and better every time he does it.

That something more doesn’t just appear, though, as Dean jacks himself harder, remembering the perfect way that girl had twisted her wrist and moved her fingers, and Dean can feel himself getting close, hand flying over his cock.

Then his brain disconnects from reality or something. It’s the only possible explanation because then the only thing he can see is Cas spinning his sword around in the bathroom, around and around again, and Dean’s body seizes up as he comes all over himself with a shout.

Well. That was unexpected.

\--

He almost thinks it’s a fluke. It had the potential to be a fluke, it totally did, but after that, Dean can’t stop thinking about it. He thinks about Cas’ hands all the time and he spends twenty minutes in the shower one time just remembering the exact weight and feel of the sword in his hands when he killed Zachariah. It isn’t a problem until Dean catches himself one day wondering what Cas would look like _naked_ with his sword spinning around his fingers.

And, well.

Shit.

He has a problem on his hands.

Cas whirls down to Earth one day when Dean is in the middle of a fight with a particularly vengeful ghost, and he might have prayed a little, but only because Sam is burning the bones outside and Dean had to get the dumbass teenagers out of the building. The ghost attacked and Dean needed help.

Mistake number one.

Mistake number _two_ is watching Cas sigh heavily and whip out his sword. All he does is hold it up so it passes through the ghost charging at him, and the ghost explodes into flames, leaving sparks hanging in the air and making Castiel look every inch the avenging angel as they glow and fizzle out around him. Dean feels a little weak in the knees because that knife and that look and oh _god_ , Cas is tilting his head in that way that means he’s considering something that should scare the ever-living shit out of Dean. He doesn’t feel nervous, though—just cautious and curious. That’s the third mistake.

“Thanks,” he chokes out, lowering his shotgun from his shoulder. “That’s, uh, good timing, Cas.”

Castiel makes some kind of face at him, and Dean doesn’t know how to respond. He doesn’t have to, though—Cas just disappears.

Sam comes down twenty minutes later to say he burned the bones, and Dean is still standing in the same spot, staring, dumbfounded, at the place where Castiel was.

\--

He doesn’t expect to see Cas for a while, so Dean is surprised when he turns up almost the minute Sam is gone from the motel room that same night to go to another bar. Dean is cleaning his guns, his entire arsenal spread out over the shitty thing that passes for a kitchen table in this room, but beggars can’t be choosers, he supposes. It’ll do.

“Hey, Cas,” Dean says, starting to take his sawed-off apart. “I, uh, wasn’t sure if you heard me, but—thanks for that. Earlier, with the ghost. Were you always able to gank spirits with that thing?”

“Why did you call me?” Cas asks instead.

Dean blinks and looks up at him, brow drawing together in confusion. He sets the gun down when he sees the expression on Cas’ face—it’s too serious for this to be a friendly visit and too flat to be about a hunt. “Uh, I needed a little back up?” he guesses, eyes flicking warily over Cas’ face.

Castiel snarls at him like a wild animal. “I am fighting a _war_ , Dean,” he spits, slamming his fist down on the table so all of the guns rattle. Dean gets the distinct impression he should be on his feet for this conversation. “I do not have the time to fly down to Earth every time you need me to pull you out of trouble.”

“I’m sorry,” Dean says, huffing and standing up. “I didn’t know what else to—”

He cuts off with a choking noise as Cas slams him against the wall, moving faster than any human as his eyes light up in angry indignation. “I don’t think you are,” he says, low and serious. “I don’t think you understand, Dean. This isn’t your puny war on Earth, boy, this is bigger.”

“Then don’t come,” Dean says, gritting his teeth against the word ‘boy’ coming out of Cas’ mouth. “Don’t come when I—”

“Be quiet,” Castiel whispers against his ear. Dean didn’t realize they were that close, but that is definitely Cas’ body pressed up along his, and that—that other thing, it might be—maybe— “I know how you’re going to apologize,” Castiel says, tracing the point of his sword down the column of Dean’s throat.

“Cas,” Dean says, and he means to say words after it, but they won’t come out.

Castiel pulls back from Dean’s ear to look him straight in the eyes. “Did I ask you to talk?” he murmurs, point of his blade pressing in harder for just a moment. Dean whimpers noiselessly in his throat as he realizes Cas just took his voice. What the actual fucking _fuck_ is going on here?

“Your thoughts are often incredibly loud,” Castiel says, fingers tightening on Dean’s hip. “I usually ignore them, but sometimes you have good ideas.” Cas licks his lips and his gaze turns absolutely feral, pupils growing wider and blacker, and Dean feels a hot bolt of fear flash through his mind before it hits his dick and turns to arousal. This is so fucked up.

“Do you know what I’m going to do?” Cas asks, bringing the hand with his sword up to touch the side of Dean’s face, his thumb pushing at Dean’s bottom lip. “Answer me, Dean.”

Dean tries to say no, he doesn’t, but Cas hasn’t let him have his voice back yet, and he shakes his head minutely, terrified of upsetting the blade resting right next to his eye. He really doesn’t have any what’s about to happen, not even a guess, because he’s never seen that look on Cas’ face before, and it scares him more than he wants to admit. Cas’ thumb slides into his mouth and along the bottom row of his teeth, and Dean trembles in confusion.

Maybe he’s starting to understand, but he’s not sure he likes it.

Castiel’s eyes get even darker, going predatory, and Dean knows he’s thinking loudly again. Fuck.

Cas kisses Dean with his thumb still inside his mouth, leaning into him and crushing the hilt of his sword against Dean’s cheek as he grips his face tighter. It’s just this side of painful, Cas nipping at his lips and grinding his hips into Dean’s savagely. Dean freezes up at first, but Cas licks his way inside Dean’s mouth, warm and sweet as anything, and Dean melts into it. He’s never thought about this—sex yeah, but never what it would be like to feel Cas’ stubble scratching over his chin or the way Cas would just hold Dean there and make him take it.

God. Fucking hell, but Dean grips his hands in the back of Castiel’s trench coat, pulling him in even though it’s probably impossible to actually get closer.

They tear each other’s clothes off, and Dean doesn’t mean it literally until Cas gets fed up with Dean’s T-shirt and slices it open with his knife, shoving it off Dean’s shoulders like it’s just a coat. Dean gasps as Cas crowds him back up against the wall, both of them naked now and so hot it’s overwhelming. Dean arches, grinds himself against Cas unconsciously, and he gets another hard, dirty kiss before Cas pulls away.

“What?” Dean asks even though no sound comes out, and Cas grabs his wrist and jerks him toward the bed. Dean stumbles and falls into Cas, and then he’s being pushed down on his stomach, and oh hell no, he is not—

“ _Stay_ ,” Castiel snarls, yanking Dean’s arms until he’s on his knees gripping the top of the headboard. “For once, Dean, just do as you’re told and _stay_.”

Dean stills, stops shifting around, and his reward is Castiel crawling up behind him and draping his body over Dean’s, mouthing at the shell of Dean’s ear and twisting one of Dean’s nipples harshly. Dean’s arms go tense as he braces himself, Cas sucking just behind his earlobe.

He’s still hard, and it’s embarrassing. He shouldn’t be getting off on the way Cas just manhandles him, telling him what to do and silencing him because he’s sick of Dean’s voice, but it makes Dean feel drugged out and happy. He fights back, pushing just enough that Cas grips him harder and his fingers dig further into Dean’s skin, but as soon as Dean moans into the feeling, Cas stops.

“Whore,” he says, almost shocked, breathing against the back of Dean’s neck. Dean grunts in surprise, pulling his hand off to reach back, but something slams it back down where Cas put it, and Castiel whispers, “Have you figured it out yet, Dean? Tell me.”

“ _No_ ,” he says, surprising himself when the sound comes out. “No, Cas, I don’t—”

An invisible force slams Dean’s head down so it’s hanging between his arms, and he realizes that’s Cas’ grace. Fuck, Cas is forcing Dean around with his grace, holding him down, still, kicking his legs apart until Dean is splayed wide open, and Dean realizes exactly where this is going, as clear as if Cas had written him out a bullet-pointed list.

“There you go,” Cas says reverently, hand tracing around the curve of Dean’s ass.

“You can’t,” Dean says, “there’s no lube.”

Castiel has the audacity to laugh at him, drawing a finger down over Dean’s hole and scraping the nail over the furrowed skin. “Oh, ye of little faith,” he says. “I’m going to open you up for me, Dean, and show you what it’s like to be _used_. Fuck you on my sword until you’re begging for me to get on with it and fuck you for real.” He pauses and presses his blade to Dean’s skin, freezing against him. “I could keep you here for _hours_ , Dean.”

“Fuck,” Dean mumbles, dropping his head all the way down, canting his hips back unconsciously. He wants it, wants this, because Cas is an indescribable force around him and he makes Dean want to do dangerous things. Right here, this is just the beginning—Cas is just getting started, by the sound of it, climbing off the bed where Dean can’t see him, and he moans in frustration.

“Shut up,” Cas says, but he doesn’t take Dean’s voice away this time. “I don’t want to hear you say anything.”

There’s the click of a cap coming off as Dean holds a noise down in his chest, steeling himself for whatever’s about to happen. The scent of gun oil invades the air, and Dean has about two seconds to think, _he can’t be serious_ , and Cas presses one finger into his ass, pushing all the way in until he can’t move forward anymore. Dean whines, trying to curl himself both into and away from it at the same time, but Cas’ grace holds him in place.

“This is what it feels like,” Castiel tells him, twisting his finger out of Dean so he can add another one, and it’s too much too soon, but Cas clearly doesn’t care. “Getting used; getting smacked around like a bitch who isn’t good for anything else.” He twists Dean’s nipple cruelly, and Dean’s shoulders shake in a mixture of overwhelming need and complete embarrassment, but he can’t stop himself from thinking, _please_.

Cas yanks his fingers out, leaving Dean empty and stinging as he shudders against the feeling. Fuck, he just—he wants this to happen, even if it hurts like hell.

“I’m not here to take care of you,” Cas hisses, straight into Dean’s ear. “You want a slow fuck, you go find someone else later.” His hands shuffle around just beyond Dean’s ass, and he closes his eyes as he gets ready and—

He didn’t think Cas was serious until he feels the end of the sword at his hole, just teasing over him for now, but it’s slick with gun oil and Dean knows this isn’t a joke at all. “You can’t—not your sword, you,” Dean pants, unable to hold the words back even as his body pushes back wantonly, anything to get it buried inside him. “You’re an _angel_ —”

Castiel _laughs_ at him, mean and angry as he lays a hard slap on Dean’s ass. Dean jerks, choking on his breath when Cas just does it again, curiously, like Dean is some kind of science experiment he’s trying to figure out how to make work properly. “I’m leading a war,” he says. “Do you have any idea what that’s like? Can you even understand how dangerous it is for me to be here right now?

“You don’t own me,” he says, and then he slides the hilt of his sword into Dean’s hole, fucking him open faster than is comfortable, and Dean’s back arches as he moans. Fuck, _fuck_ —he can barely imagine what he must look like right now, like a—

“ _Slut_ ,” Castiel says. Dean can hear the smirk in his voice. “The word you’re looking for is _slut_.”

“I’m not,” Dean protests, but it feels weak as Cas thrusts the sword into him again and he moans at the feeling of it.

“You’re on your knees begging for me to fuck you with my sword,” Castiel says. “I don’t understand how that could fail to meet the definition.”

Dean’s response comes out garbled—or maybe it doesn’t come out at all, he’s not sure at this point—and he leans into it, the slick slide of gun oil and the unnaturally smooth feeling of Cas’ sword. He doesn’t have a clue what it’s made out of, because, yeah, it looks like metal, but it’s metal that has to be physically cleaned of blood, and that sounds pretty damn holy to him. And it’s inside his ass.

Dean tries to push harder back into it, but Cas has him held down, knees, hips, and hands locked in place as Dean’s toes curl on a particularly hard thrust. He can feel the larger bump just before the blade starts hit his ass when Cas pushes it too hard, and he wonders _what if_ , just for a second, and Cas laughs deep in his throat.

“I’ve got you in the most vulnerable position I could find and you’re still asking for more,” he says against Dean’s skin. “I’m controlling you, _owning_ you—and still you want to tell me what to do?”

“I didn’t say anything,” Dean grunts. Falling back on denial is always inevitably the easiest solution, but Cas just scoffs at him, and Dean wills himself not to want this as much as he does.

“Don’t lie to me, boy,” he snaps, smacking Dean’s thigh. “I can hear you, Dean,” Cas says, spreading his hand over Dean’s ass and digging his nails in. “Every thought, about how you want me to push this in further—” he punctuates with an angry thrust that leaves Dean keening and seeing stars “—and then open you up with my dick. It’s pathetic.”

Dean doesn’t know where Cas learned to do any of this—to spew filth from his mouth while holding Dean down and fucking him in the most teasing way with his fucking _sword_ , and Dean moans helplessly because there’s nothing else he can do. It scares him and excites him at the same time, and this feels absolutely nothing like Kristen’s fingers inside him. This is better, so much better, because it’s not just some chick from a bar, it’s Cas, and that—that matters a lot, for some reason.

He’s pulled out of his thoughts by the feeling of Cas’ teeth digging sharp and angry into his shoulder, the kind of bite that’s gonna leave one bitch of a mark, and when Dean’s grits his teeth against it, he’s not sure if the noise he’s trying to keep in is pleasured or pained.

“You can’t even have the decency to remember who it is you’re with,” Cas mutters against Dean’s skin, nosing over the bite, licking it, scraping his teeth over their imprints in Dean’s skin, and Dean keens. His orgasm is building low in his stomach, completely oblivious to the fact that his dick hasn’t been touched, and Cas nails a particularly good thrust with his sword as he nips at the bite again. Dean’s balls are drawing up, he’s so close to coming, just one more thrust and—

“No,” Cas says, slipping the sword out of Dean’s ass and moving away from Dean’s body entirely. Dean’s breath hitches in a sob.

“Please, Cas,” he pants, ass clenching around nothing as the heat in his body burns angrily, upset that he didn’t get his release when he was already so close. “Fuck, _please_.”

“No,” Castiel says, and the sound of a buckle clinking as it’s undone fills the air. Dean—he doesn’t whimper, exactly, but that’s the closest approximation of the animalistic noise that comes out of his chest, mind hazy and full of want. He just needs this so much, needs the way it smells like gun oil and tastes like the blood he’s bitten out of his lip.

Nothing changes, though. Cas stays hovering behind him, waiting for something as Dean’s back relaxes bit by bit, spine dipping down now that his orgasm isn’t imminent. Dean’s mind is on edge.

“Cas,” he sighs, straining to twist his body around. “Cas, I don’t—”

A feather-light touch on the side of his hip cuts him off as Dean sucks in a harsh breath. Fabric rustles, the bed shifts and creaks, and then a hand touches him again, firm on his lower back.

“I’m fighting this war for you, Dean,” Castiel murmurs, tracing a finger in a random pattern across Dean’s back, skating across the top of his ass. “I am leading the rebellion against Raphael to keep you and your brother safe, and you still want more from me.” He pauses, stilling against Dean’s skin. “I’ve observed that in humanity time and time again. What you have is never enough.”

Dean stays silent, muscles twitching under Cas’ scrutiny. He’s equal parts scared and turned on, and he knows Cas would stop this if Dean meant it, if Dean told him _no_ , but Dean thinks he would rather die than stop this now.

That’s melodramatic.

Castiel sighs, murmuring something that sounds like a prayer under his breath, and Dean swallows when the bed shifts with Cas again.

The first press of Castiel’s cock into him feels like too much too fast, and Dean grunts in a way that sounds as much like pleasure as it does pain. Castiel doesn’t relent, rocking forward bit by bit so that Dean has to feel every bit of this as hands stroke up and down his hips.

It’s kind of amazing, how it doesn’t feel quite like he thought it would because it’s _better_. It hurts a little, actually, but Dean likes the ache and the feeling now of _too full_ , prefers it to not full enough. And by the time Cas actually fucks all the way into him, Dean groans lowly, thinks he might be pushing his hips back if he had the range of movement, and Castiel slides a hand into his hair, tugging gently on what he can.

“Is this what you wanted?” he asks, twisting his hips back out slowly.

“I— _fuck_ , Cas,” Dean gasps. He tries to form a sentence, a word, something to tell Cas that he never knew he wanted this, but all that comes out is a long moan and by then, Castiel has done something so fantastic with his hips in Dean’s ass and his teeth on Dean’s spine that Dean doesn’t know what he was supposed to be saying anyway.

This whole thing is a rush, from the barely-there slick sound of Cas sliding in and out of him to the burning under Dean’s skin that just gets worse as it goes on.

Dean bites his lip on a moan when Cas finally dares to go harder and Castiel slaps him again.

“Don’t hold yourself back,” he grunts, sliding home and staying there. “You don’t get to do that now.”

That’s when the floodgates open, it seems, and Dean whines, “Move, Cas, please,” and he tries his damn best to shove himself backwards into Castiel. Cas laughs at him but he starts fucking Dean again anyway, hard this time, until the only thing Dean can hear is himself getting louder and more desperate and the slap of skin on skin.

“What would you do if I was called back up to Heaven?” Castiel asks. He sounds barely out of breath, triumphant. “What would you do if I made you wait like this until I could return?”

“You can’t,” Dean says, panic filling him, because the last thing he needs is for Sam to return to the motel room to find him like this.

“Why not?” Castiel asks. He drags his nails down Dean’s back, and Dean discovers he can move now. He unclenches his hands from the headboard, looking for relief, but Castiel just pushes his head down to the mattress, body collapsing with him until Dean is left with his ass in the air and everything else down. It’s humiliating and, he realizes, exactly what Castiel wants. “You ask so much of me, Dean. Is it too much for me to want you to wait for me here, like this?”

Dean turns his head so his face isn’t smashed into the bed, holding himself up on his forearms. “That’s not—it’s different.”

“How?” Castiel asks. “How is it different from how you expect me to be waiting on you when you want me? The crimes are the same, Dean.”

“ _No_.”

Dean cries out as Castiel snarls and grabs Dean’s arms, twisting them behind his back and holding them there with his hands. His shoulder wrenches painfully, and that’s definitely a sound of pain this time, but Castiel doesn’t respond.

Why is he still hard? He shouldn’t be getting off on this.

“I’m sorry,” he says, whimpering. Everything hurts and feels so good at the same time, and Dean doesn’t know what to do with himself, so he babbles. “Fuck, Cas, I’m sorry, okay, I didn’t know, you didn’t—please, I’m _sorry_.”

“Do you think sorry is good enough?”

Dean doesn’t know what he thinks, because Cas’ hips haven’t slowed down this whole time and it’s—fuck, it’s good, despite the fact that he doesn’t think he’s ever going to be able to smell gun oil again without getting hard. He sighs, back arching, and before he knows it, he’s coming all over the bed as Castiel fucks him through his orgasm. Dean’s silent, face stretched into a scream even though the air is all trapped deep in his chest.

He doesn’t register the feeling of Cas coming all over his back and ass, too blissed and fucked out to notice much  more than the way his thighs are shaking and his throat feels like sandpaper from breathing so harshly.

Dean falls to the side when Cas lets him go. A hand brushes over his cheek, and Dean struggles to open his eyes against his exhaustion. Cas is staring down at him, looking exactly like he does all the time, as if he didn’t just fuck Dean into the mattress and come all over him. Goddamn angels.

“Don’t call me unless you truly need me,” Castiel commands, and Dean nods sleepily at him. He should get under the covers in case Sam comes back. “In the meantime, I will return if I am able, but I  have many duties to attend to.”

“Don’t be a stranger,” Dean mumbles, trying to dispel some of the awkwardness in the room. There’s probably no hope for that now, he supposes.

Castiel gives him one last inscrutable look and flies away.

\--

The next time Dean sees Castiel, it feels like they fucked their issues out. Even Sam notices how everything feels different between them now, giving Dean sidelong looks the whole time they’re discussing business. Dean just raises an eyebrow at him and invites Cas back to his motel room later when Sam turns away.

Castiel accepts.

**Author's Note:**

> A very belated birthday present for Rose. Happy birthday! Two months later. :D (You're technically old enough to read this shit now. Woo.)
> 
> Title from Lana Del Rey's "Hit and Run."
> 
> Check me out on tumblr at abaddonless.


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